Knee Deep in the River
by robertskycard
Summary: As winter sets in, a crippled Ellie tries her best to find her friend, Elizabeth, who has been captured by an unsavory character, and Joel, whom she last saw fighting for his life. Amanda, wounded and desperate, is thrust into a world she has worked so hard to avoid. Four people. Four stories. One family.
1. Chapter 1: Return

Chapter 1: Return

(Late Summer, Pacific Northwest)

"Ah! Fuck!" Amanda hissed, wrapping her arm in gauze. The soldier's shots had been wild, but one managed to graze her forearm. She had only noticed it much later, being more preoccupied with finding Joel, Ellie, and the others. Especially Ellie. Amanda's shots had been low just before the soldier fired back, and she wasn't sure if she hit the soldier's legs or if she'd hit Ellie. Before she had time to figure it out, the soldier whirled on her and fired, making her dive for cover. Then, a runner had jumped her, almost biting her, and that was how she lost track of everyone else.

She had run for about twenty minutes until she realized she had no plan, no gear. Nothing but the clothes on her back, a replacement set in her backpack, a rifle with two bullets slung over her shoulder, a few tins of food that would last about a day, and a 9mm with about six rounds of ammo tucked into the waistband of her cargo pants. If she was going to take off into the wild, she would need a lot more than that. At the very least, she would need some more food and a compass.

She had returned to Jackson, following the acrid black smoke that was rising into the sky like a massive ebony pillar. When she finally got into town, she immediately registered the trademark clicking that always made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Close listening revealed that there were a number of sources from which the chilling sound came. Amanda had vaguely wondered where they had come from, but it didn't take much to figure out how an army of infected had descended on Jackson. The small fireworks Elizabeth had made brought at least a few dozen infected every day for three weeks straight, so of course a protracted gun battle with numerous explosions and an active tank would draw an even greater number. Amanda had seen it before. Coming back for supplies was a really risky move. But it was even riskier to tromp off into the woods without direction or supplies. She needed her compass, food, and ammo.

It had taken her some time, but she had found a compass. Not her compass, but a working compass was better than none. Unfortunately, her house, which contained her personal food stockpile, had been so overrun that even attempting to go inside would have been suicide. She did score a lucky break when a runner she strangled had gauze in its coat pocket. It was only then that she realized that she'd been shot. She had done a routine check for bites when she saw that her sleeve was soaked in her blood. She removed the jacket to find the wound. Once she figured out it was a bullet wound, she relaxed.

Now, she tied off the gauze and moved to put her jacket back on when she realized that the wet blood would both attract wild animals and chill her before it dried. She didn't want to fight a bear with hypothermia. Now, she also needed a new coat. Her bloody jacket would be better than the thin tank-top she had now, but it would be a while before it would be both safe and useful. Thankfully, the dead runner had been a woman around her height and weight, if a little skinny, and its dark canvas, flannel lined coat was relatively clean and dry. Amanda pulled the coat from the dead runner and put it on. It fit well. And it was even thicker than her old jacket, which was simple, thin polyester and cotton. This was a winter coat, not a windbreaker.

She zipped it up and picked up her rifle. She wanted to get her compass, but sentimental value would only get her killed. However, she reasoned that if she had two, one could get broken and she would have a spare to replace it. She sighed. She should have taken up her dad's offer to teach her how to read a star chart when she had the chance. Now, she had to get his compass. The only thing she had left of him.

She stalked her way through the alleys and back yards, the main street nothing but a minefield of shambling infected, the husks of cars, the burning corpse of the soldier's tank, and the bodies of friends and enemies alike. If she got out of Jackson alive, she would hunt down that soldier prick and make him pay for taking away the home she made for herself here. But first she had to find Ellie, Joel, and the others that mattered to her.

Her heart panged with guilt. She'd made a plan with Joel to draw the tank's fire away while others tried to get away after it fired on the church. She should have told him how she felt about him. She thought that, if things were like they had been before, she could stay with him. Help Ellie grow up. Her dad would have been so proud to see her settling down. But her dad was dead. Joel and Ellie were missing.

She was so lost in thought, she almost stepped into a trip wire attached to a can with a bunch of blades sticking out of it. She saw it just in time and froze, slowly drawing her foot back. She released the breath she didn't know she had been holding. She carefully stepped over the wire and was about to continue on when an idea popped into her head.

She knelt down by the can and gently removed the top. She reached in, found the wire, and disconnected it from the fuse. Now it was inert, but that didn't make her feel any safer.

Joel had taught everyone how to make this kind of IED, as Amanda liked to call it. Everyone else called it a nail bomb. Apparently, Joel had been taught how to make it by some crazy fucker out in the East Coast. The IEDs Amanda generally ran into were simply military explosives attached to fishing line or an old egg timer. If she were lucky, she would run across a good, old fashioned pipe bomb. However, this thing was something else entirely. Joel had taught everyone how easy it was to make one as well as what to look for in terms of materials. It was added to the list of things to look out for while out on scavenging runs. They found the materials everywhere, even in places previously thought picked clean.

However, that was months ago. Those areas were mostly picked clean now and Amanda could use all the help she could get. She stored the explosive in her pack before zipping it up slowly. She shook her pack lightly. Nothing. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was still dead. She put on her pack and continued her hunt for the compass.

She hadn't had time to get her personal items like the others. She had had to go to the doc first to treat her wounds, and then she spent the rest of the time helping construct defenses before taking her place in the rifle line. Her face still hurt where her cheek had been cut. Her missing finger nails still burned, the bandages colored deep red where the gauze touched the wounds. It hurt to move her fingers. But none of it was not as painful as what the soldier had said to her.

"You see this?" he had said, holding up the first nail in front of her face. She had refused to look. He'd grabbed her by the hair and forced her to look, "That used to be yours. Now it's mine. Easy as that. You want to know why? Because you put up a couple of watch towers and a sheet metal fence and call it 'safe.' That's not safe."

He pointed behind him into a thicket of trees, "One of my older guys told me that a buncha people went north when it all started, hoping the infected would all freeze to death when winter came. Then, they'd be 'safe'. Yeah, didn't work out so well for half of 'em. The ones who who froze to death or got eaten by cannibals, anyway. For the rest of 'em, they'd came into spring knowing that winter didn't do shit to combat infected and all their planning was for nothing.

"Then there's these survivalist types, these doomsday preppers. Boobytrap the help out of a street corner, a city block, or a whole fucking town, stake a claim, and pretty much shoot on sight. Killed a few of 'em on our way up here. You know what they had in common with those people who tried to freeze the infected?

"Both of 'em thought that if they did one thing or another, they'd make everything go back to normal," he held up the nail in her face again, "Let me ask you something. When you sneak up on some poor, unsuspecting prick, wrap your arm around his throat, and make him do the chicken, does that strike you as 'normal?' And the fact that you do that day in and day out, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that?"

"Fuck you, it's not normal! That's why we're-"

The back of his hand struck her face, sending her to the ground. Her cheek struck a rock and split the skin, warm blood running down her flesh. Rough hands hauled her back up to her knees.

"Bullshit it isn't normal. It's our fucking life now. If we don't learn how to fight, we die. You and your pals think that with a few 'scouting missions', some barbed wire, watch towers, and electricity, you can return things back to the way they were. That's the problem. They won't. Now now, not ever. Safety isn't real. It's an illusion. A fucking joke."

At first, she had been convinced that Jackson could beat him back, drive out his men and save the town. But, as she now stalked the alleys, hiding from the streets she used to walk down without so much as peeking over her shoulder, she realized that the soldier was right. If safety wasn't possible anymore, then she might as well take what little sentiment she had left.

Amanda broke out of her thoughts when she saw her target. She pressed her back against the fence of the house she had shared with Joel and Ellie. She peeked through the slats, hoping to see what was on the other side. She couldn't see much besides grass and dirt, but she didn't see movement. She crept to the gate and quietly opened it before sliding through. The empty back yard greeted her like an old friend.

She crept to the wall by the sliding glass back door and pressed her shoulder against the siding. She peered around the corner. She saw that the door had been boarded up and that the ground floor windows and doors had also received the same treatment. Maria had wanted it that way for all the houses lined up along the street leading to the church.

Thankfully, Amanda knew a way around. A second floor window had remained open, as the people who boarded the building up had used it to get out. The ladder they had used to climb down still lay in the back yard. She, slung her rifle over her shoulder, picked up the ladder, and leaned it against the wall, placing the top just underneath the open window. She climbed slowly, her fingers throbbing, her heart hammering. She could still hear the infected making noise on the street. She took her time, keeping her hand relaxed and her breathing steady. As long as she kept her cool, she would be fine.

As she stepped up on one of the rungs, it snapped with a screech of metal. Her foot gave way and she nearly fell, catching herself on the sides of the ladder. She heard the collective screech from around the house. The hair on the back of her neck prickled up and her heart beat faster, a chill running through it. Oh, shit. She resumed her climb in earnest, reaching the window frame just as a runner came scrambling over the fence. Oh shit oh shit oh shit! She pulled herself into the window as more runners scaled the fence, pausing just long enough to kick the ladder out and away from her before hauling herself inside. She hit the floor with a thud and got to her feet, reaching over and slamming the window shut. She heard thumping on the walls, the pounding of fists.

Amanda placed her hands on her knees, bent forward, and blew air out of her mouth, trying to calm herself. She may have just trapped herself in a house surrounded by infected with no way out but through them, but panicking about it would do nothing but amp her up even more. She needed to find her things and then make a plan to get out. With the way the house was boarded up, she had maybe an hour before they broke through. People got tired. The infected had almost endless reserves of energy.

She stood back up to get her bearings, mentally counting her breaths to keep calm. She realized where she was. Ellie's room. Ellie's beloved comics lay stacked in order beneath the nightstand. The nightstand's drawer had been left open. The bed had been made neatly in a military style Amanda was familiar with, remembering how her father always made the bed that way, and that she had picked up the habit herself. The nearby closet was empty, ancient coat hangers littering the floor. The drawers of the wardrobe had been pulled open and stripped bare, and the pictures on top of it had been placed face down, probably by Ellie.

Amanda recalled that she'd done the same thing in her bedroom before moving in with Joel. It was unsettling to try to sleep while the faces of the dead and gone see stared, immobile and immortal. Yet Amanda couldn't bring herself to get rid of them, either. Laughing newlyweds, parents with a smiling baby, a young girl with braces, and a family get-together. Amanda couldn't destroy this only glimpse into a past she could only guess at, a past much like hers, one that she could barely remember herself.

The infected pounded on the walls, a shriek from them breaking her train of thought and putting her focus back to the task at hand. She made for the door, taking one last look at the room. Her eyes fell on the comics below the nightstand.

_Ellie's gonna want those. _

_They won't be useful for more than kindling. _

_I have plenty of room in my backpack._

_Room for food, ammo, and supplies. _

Amanda stood in the doorway for a few moments.

"Fuck it," she muttered and she walked back over to the nightstand, unslinging her rifle and leaning it against the wall in order to take off her backpack. She knelt down, scooped up the comics, and tucked them into her backpack. Surprisingly, they took up even less room than she thought they would. She stood up, slung the pack and the rifle back over her shoulders, and left the room. A moment later, she stood at the door to Joel's room.

_I should have told him I loved him._

She swallowed hard as she pushed the door open slowly. She remembered the first time she ever came in here. It was a lovely, private memory. Afterward, she had brought some things over, but she wasn't sure what she brought. It felt like so long ago. Were things like they were before, she might have waited much longer, for just about everything that happened between them. But then, Joel might also still have his daughter, Sarah, a girl who would have been around Amanda's age by now, if a few years younger.

She examined the room, knowing it well. The wardrobe looked untouched since the outbreak, the framed photos upon it showing a smiling, happily married elderly couple. Joel's bed was made, though not as neatly as Ellie's. The closet door stood open. Like Ellie's room, his place looked ransacked. Amanda could clearly see the two of them, frantically throwing things they needed into their backpacks before rushing out the door.

Hopefully she could find what she was looking for in the remains. She picked through the room meticulously. Unlike Ellie, Joel was entirely practical, completely organized, and reserved. He didn't open up much. She could tell. She had noticed that almost all of his things were always packed and ready to go, his banged up backpack hanging on the wall hook by the front door. She always saw it every time she left to go on scavenging trips or watch duty. Even after he had finally made a home, he was ready to leave at a moment's notice.

_If that was true, what the hell did he ransack his room for?_

The thought clicked in her mind like a lightbulb in a lamp. She cyphered through the options. Clothing? No. She'd showed them the house their first day back. He had hung up some damp clothing in the closet, but when she came in later, the closet was empty, the clothes no doubt packed away in his deceptively cavernous backpack. Sarah's watch? No, he never took it off. It wasn't his things that he had been looking for. Did Ellie give him something? No, that would have also been in the backpack.

It had to be Amanda's compass. She had only realized she had left it in Joel's room the night before when she went out on patrol. She didn't usually take it with her on patrol, as she knew the area and she preferred for it to be safe at home. Now, she realized she had let herself become complacent, and was kicking herself for it. She'd been in a dozen other settlements that fell, and she had always been prepared for their eventual collapse. Why should Jackson be any different?

Maybe because she was one of the early birds, the settlement having been only few months old when she stumbled upon the gate, completely unaware that a few people had set up shop during the winter. As time went by, it started to feel actually safe, instead of a checkpoint between long stretches of living out in the wilderness. Even though she lived alone. The one thing the world had now that there were a lot less people in it was room to stretch your legs. Amanda was able to live alone in a two-story house like the one in which Joel and Ellie lived. Of course, if things were beginning to crowd up, she was always the first one to offer room, even sleeping on the floor when spacial needs required it. Nicer than sleeping on cold, damp mud every damn day.

The thought that she was returning to that life, possibly permanently, made her shiver. Every time she was forced to leave somewhere, she had a foreboding feeling that something would happen to her before she found the next one. She might get killed. She might get infected. She knew she was getting older at the age of thirty-seven, but she had about ten years to catch up to Joel's current age. She knew she was going to hit menopause anytime soon, and then the other signs of age would follow shortly after. As much as she dreaded those changes, she feared death much more.

Amanda shook her head. The compass wasn't here. Joel had to have it. Now that all her personal items were accounted for, it was time to formulate an escape. She stepped back out into the hallway, making her way to the bathroom, the dull thumping of infected fists outside having almost become white noise. That was dangerous. She needed to focus.

_Pop!_

Amanda ducked instinctively. That was a gunshot. A far away one, but still a gunshot. The infected outside screeched in uproar at the new sound.

_Pop! Pop! Pop! _

That was a burst, an automatic weapon. She was sure of it. It was closer. It came from the street side of the house. She made her way back into Joel's room and peeked through the old curtains. A pair of black army jeeps barreled down the street, rolling over the bodies that lay strewn about. A number of runners pursued the jeeps. It was obvious that these were the soldier's rearguard. She ducked back behind the wall, hoping that those in the vehicles wouldn't see her.

_Vrooooom!_

_Screeeeeeech!_

_Popopopopopopop!_

_Thunkthunkthunk!_

Bullets struck the side of the house as the infected around it screamed and charged at the noise. More gunfire, shrieks, clicking, then shouts. A scream of agony. She peeked out behind the curtain. The infected had swarmed the vehicles, and were pulling someone out through the window, tearing him apart with hands and teeth. She got a quick look at him. What wasn't stained with gushing blood was the dark blue and black of a military uniform and combat armor.

She didn't know whether to curse or cheer. If Amanda was going to slip away, now would be the time to do it. She rushed back to Ellie's room and yanked open the window before peeking out. She saw a pair of shoes disappear over the fence before the runner they belonged to charged toward the street. She surveyed the yard. It was clear. Unfortunately, there wasn't any way down from the window. Except to try to jump out.

There was a problem with that. Normally, she would have leapt immediately, as the yard was a flat landing area. All she would have to do was brace herself. But the ladder she'd kicked down lay just where it could cause trouble. If she landed on it, she'd either twist or break her ankle. If that happened, she'd most likely either suffer a quick, egregiously painful death at the hands of the infected or the soldier's men, or a long, slow, and painful death from infection and starvation. She could miss the ladder if she leapt out far enough, but that was a gamble. Maybe she could find another way out? She immediately shot down the idea. There was no time.

She climbed out of the window and held onto the frame with her hands, positioned like a swimmer at the edge of a pool, ready to push off. She counted to three. _You can do this, Amanda._

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

She let go and pushed off. She conserved her momentum by tucking into a ball when her feet hit the ground. She missed the ladder. She got to her feet and ran to the gate, wrenching it open and squeezing through. She sped through the alley and up to the sheet metal fence, prying one of the sheets back before sliding through the hole she made and running into the woods again.

As the gunshots, screams, and shrieks of infected slowly faded away into the distance, her full run slowed to a jog, a walk, and then she stopped, panting, breathless, sweat streaking down her brow as her chest heaved. She placed a palm against a tree and leaned forward, calming down slowly, getting her bearings. She adjusted her baseball cap and stood up.

"Alright. Now, where would I go if I were a teenager running low on supplies?" she muttered to herself as she pulled out the compass she had found. She waited patiently for the needle to swing north. She was pointed west.

"Okay, so Jackson's southeast of here, the dam's east of Jackson, south of Jackson is the national park, and north of Jackson is Ghost Town."

'Ghost Town' was a tiny town a few miles north of Jackson, named such because it had no appearance on any map the residents of Jackson had. Perhaps this was because the 'town' was little more than a gas station, a convenience store, a drug store, and a motel set for tourists of the nearby national park that used to be there. The only sign that once had the name on it had long since been destroyed by a fallen tree. Best anyone could tell, it started with a 'g' and ended in 'town'. Thus came about the name 'Ghost Town'. It was more of a joke than anything. But it was also a good landmark.

However, it wouldn't have been Amanda's first choice as a temporary hideout.

Ghost Town, Jackson, the dam, all were connected to the interstate highway. It was probably the most important landmark they had had. It was the place to meet in the event of a town evacuation, as it was elevated above the valley. The highway remained where many other mountain roads had eroded or fallen away. With Ghost Town simply too closed in by trees, the dam a prime target because of its noise, and the national park miles and miles of wild terrain, the highway, specifically exit 437, was the best meeting spot if Jackson fell.

But Ellie might not know that. Or she could have panicked. Hell, Amanda had been running southwest for twenty minutes before realizing she had to go back, and she'd had to flee towns like Jackson before. However, she knew that Ellie didn't know these woods like she did or have the experience to deal with being thrust suddenly into a survival situation. But Ellie was a fighter. She'd find a way.

During her thoughts, Amanda had looked down at the ground past her compass. It was stained with a bloody footprint. She looked around. Blood trailed from the southeast, and turned north just where Amanda stood. It seemed only the left foot was bloody. She knelt down to examine the track more closely. There was something odd about the track. It looked distorted, as if it were damaged by something. However, all the other tracks looked just like it. The shoe had been damaged, probably, and that caused the bleeding wound. The blood itself was only a few hours old, still a little sticky. There was a lot of it. Whoever owned this shoe was severely injured, probably a casualty of the battle at Jackson. She examined the tread more closely. It appeared to belong to a sneaker, the kind that a teenager would wear. Converse, or a knockoff. She had loved wearing those when she was a teenager.

_Oh fuck._

Amanda went pale.

_Oh, no. No, no, no._

It was Ellie's footprint.


	2. Chapter 2: Captured

**Hello everyone, and welcome to the sequel for _I'm Not Letting You Go_! I'm really happy for all the positive response the previous fic had and I'm really glad for the response of the first chapter of this one. I didn't have an author's note in the previous chapter because I wanted it to be a cold opening, but I'm really happy about the turnout! You guys are the bomb!**

**First off, I'm going to address the point of view. Unlike _I'm Not Letting You Go_, where the entire story was from Ellie's point of view and the story was told in sequence, I'm going to be switching back and forth between multiple characters. Not only that, some chapters will go back in time to tell the stories of Amanda and Elizabeth, neither of whom were fully fleshed out, but I will let you know immediately when a flashback chapter comes out.**

**Secondly, I'm going to address the title. It was inspired by the song _Bartholomew_ by The Silent Comedy. _Bartholomew_ deals with the struggle against the onslaught of the world, including one's own choices. Last time, the main theme was guilt, redemption, and forgiveness, but this time its more about struggling to survive, as well as the basic themes in _The Last of Us_. I wanted the title to convey the sense of the theme of this fic and I hope it comes across**.

**Thirdly, other than the summary, I shall not put warnings about the content of certain chapters. This is because I want things to come as a shock to people. I really wish to be considerate to everyone, but in novels, movies, and video games, the only warning you get is the rating on the package or the section you find in in the store. This means that my author's notes are going to be a bit more sporadic and there might only be a few.**

**Finally, I hope you enjoy this chapter and this fic.**

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><p>Chapter 2: Captured<p>

(Late Summer, Pacific Northwest)

"Keep moving," Fredricks grumbled roughly. Elizabeth trudged forward, keeping her eyes locked onto the path ahead. Fredricks was a dark man, probably in his mid forties. Elizabeth, however, was still at the age where anyone with a wrinkle was 'old.' The 'old' man wore navy blue military fatigues, black combat armor and boots, held a shotgun in his hand, and had a revolver secured in a holster on his right thigh. Elizabeth didn't look nearly as prepared for battle compared to him, considering she wore only a grey hoodie, a black t-shirt underneath, dirty, rough skinny jeans, and old work boots. Even though she was much lighter in skin-tone than him, the two of them could have passed off as father and daughter.

Which was funny to her because she was currently plotting to kill him.

He was one of the soldier's men and had captured her when she had stumbled on Riley's grave sight in her haste to get away. How he had snuck up on her on an open hilltop, she didn't know. But what she did know was that he had basically all of her worldly possessions. The only thing she was allowed to carry was her backpack and the spare set of clothes inside. Her pistol, her lockpick set, her supplies, and the mementos of her father were all tucked away in little back corners on Fredricks' person.

Still, she considered herself lucky. When he'd captured her, he'd said he couldn't tie her up due to a 'lack of equipment' and that he'd keep her unharmed due to 'protocol'. He could have done any number of things to her if he wanted. But all he did was put her on a forced march north, occasionally nudging her with the barrel of his shotgun when she'd slow down or stop.

But he was also working with the soldier. Before she had fled, she had seen them mercilessly butcher her neighbors. Her friends. She saw Marcus cut down in a burst of machine gun fire. She saw one of them split her neighbor Ron's head with a machete. Another clubbed a fleeing woman and began to savagely strike her over and over until Elizabeth put a bullet through his throat.

_I hope Ellie made it._

That was perhaps the most painful part of the Jackson massacre. She didn't know who made it out. After all, the residents of Jackson gave as good as they got, even though the soldier had a tank and about a hundred fully armed and armored men. It looked like the fight might start turning in Jackson's favor after the tank exploded. Then, the infected showed and stole victory from both sides. That was the thing about them. No matter what happened, they would inevitably show up and kill whatever they could find. Ironically, the chaos of the infected making their appearance allowed Elizabeth to make her escape.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

She felt metal press against her back, a short, sharp shove. She stumbled forward, but caught herself and resumed walking.

"I'm walking," she grumbled.

"Not fast enough if we want to make the rendezvous point by nightfall," her captor growled.

"You afraid your soldier buddies are going to leave you behind?"

"If we don't get there by 0900 tomorrow morning, yes they will. If that happens, it won't end well for you."

She fought the urge to turn around and stop, "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't have the resources to support two people on a trek all the way back to Chicago with no working vehicles. I can't afford to leave you to your own devices either. So I'll have to...consolidate."

"Pretty way of saying you'll leave me for dead in a ditch," even though her tone was sarcastic and dismissive, she felt a cold wave of dread wash over her. Her pace quickened a little.

"That's right, so you'd better hurry up."

That made it imperative. She had to escape. She had to escape as soon as humanly possible. She sped up a little more.

"That's more like it. Keep that up and we should make it in time."

She sped up a little more, taking quick, long strides.

"Hey."

Fear's icy grip began to strangle her heart and her throat. She had to escape. It didn't matter that he had all of her stuff. If she didn't leave him, she was going to die, sooner rather than later.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

She spun around and kicked hard. Her boot found his knee and the blow knocked him to the ground. She leapt over him and began to run, heart pounding, fighting a scream.

"Motherfucker!" he roared as he scrambled back to his feet and gave chase, "Get back here, goddammit!"

She sped through the woods back the way they came. She had to lose him. There had been a stream they'd come across about ten minutes ago. She could go through there. She burst out of the woods onto the bank of the stream and ran into the water. The mountain runoff chilled her to the bone, but she was too warm from her panic. _I might make just make it!_

He caught her about halfway across the stream.

"Come here!"

Steel arms wrapped around her waist, crushing her to him. He hauled her up in the air, her thrashing sending water spraying in all directions. He pulled her back toward the riverbank. She thrust her elbow toward the side of his head. Her aim was true. The blow connected, striking the plastic and metal of his combat helmet. His grip loosened and she thrashed even harder, trying to wiggle free of his grip.

One arm released her. But before she could exploit it, steely fingers grasped her wrist, brought her arm behind her, and pushed it up against her back. Pain lanced from her shoulder all the way to her fingertips.

She was completely at his mercy.

He dragged her the rest of the way to the riverbank and dumped her onto the sandy ground, spitting curses. She saw that he'd dumped his weapons so that they'd stay dry. She reached out for the closest gun. His boot landed on her wrist, trapping her hand. She heard a gun cock. She looked up to a drenched, furious Fredricks pointing her pistol at her head.

"Lost my fucking corn because of you running off like that," he snarled. He reached down to his hip, grasping at empty air. She remembered suddenly that he'd had a radio. His expression twisted even more. There was no doubt he was absolutely livid. His boot pressed down hard on her wrist. He bent down and retrieved his other weapons, putting them back where they belonged.

His hand grabbed her by the collar and he hoisted her up to her feet before shoving her northward. His hand kept a grip on her collar.

"Move."

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><p>The fire crackled loudly in the night, painting strange shadow productions onto the surrounding trees. It might have been pretty. Or spooky. But Elizabeth didn't really care right at that moment. She stared at the man who tended the fire. He sat on a log, bent forward with his hands tossing wood into the flames, his shotgun cradled in his lap. His helmet sat beside him, allowing her to see his shaved head. He sat back and sighed, turning the spit roasted rabbit. Elizabeth shifted on her log, rubbing her wrists, extending her hands toward the fire to warm them. Fredricks grunted as he reached behind him, yanked her pistol from his pants, and set it on the log right by his helmet. He turned the spit roast again.<p>

Elizabeth's eyes fell on the pistol.

"Don't even think about it."

She looked up to see that his shotgun had been angled in his lap just so that the barrel pointed directly at her in a not-so-subtle threat. She saw that his finger rested just above the trigger, tapping the metal. His brown eyes glowed in the firelight as he glared at her, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"I need my gun back," she said flatly.

"That's too fucking bad."

He returned to the rabbit. Elizabeth sat and watched him sourly, "We're both gonna die out here with a fire like this. Someone could be sneaking up on us right now."

"If I don't have any energy, I can't outrun or outfight anything that catches us in the day. I'd be eating fucking corn in pitch black darkness if you hadn't tried to run off."

As time drew on, Elizabeth got the sneaking suspicion he wouldn't share any with her because of her escape attempt. That was a shame, because she was damn hungry. She rubbed her hands and looked at her pistol again.

"Look at it again and you won't get any of this rabbit."

_This fucking guy._

She gave him a glare. He'd tightened his leash on her since her escape attempt, and it wasn't that long to begin with. It was stupid, running off like that. Nice going, Elizabeth.

Fredricks continued his work on the rabbit, which was smelling better and better by the minute.

"Fucking soldier and his fucking rearguard," he muttered to himself, "Wouldn't be slogging through the fucking woods if it weren't for those fucks."

He pulled the rabbit off the spit. The rabbit's meat was a juicy reddish brown, dripping with its own grease. It sizzled as some of it dripped into the fire. Elizabeth could smell the grease and the fire's burning embers. She went from furious to ready to beg on her knees in half a second. She saw him reach over to the hunting knife embedded in the log on his other side and wrench it free from the wood. He gently removed the rabbit from the spit and sawed it neatly in two down the middle. He speared one of the halves with a long, sharpened stick she just noticed, and held it out toward Elizabeth. She snatched the meat right off the stick when it got close enough to her and tore directly into it.

Fredricks coughed, loudly. Too loudly to be an accident. Elizabeth looked up at him from her meal.

"Aren't you supposed to say something?" his hard look told her he was not joking.

She swallowed a hunk of meat and her pride, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said bitterly before diving into his own rabbit.

They both devoured their food in silence, the meager meal sating their starving stomachs. As she ate, Elizabeth stared at the pistol on the log.

_If I could just get to it..._

_Should you?_

She looked up at Fredricks. He was too focused on his rabbit meat. His shotgun pointed away from her as he shifted on the log to get better purchase on the rabbit meat.

_Now would be an excellent time._

_Are you fucking crazy? He'll kill you, not to mention it's poor form to shoot the guy who just gave you half his food._

_So? He and his friends burnt Jackson to the ground. They tried to take Ellie away and kill her! _

She looked from Fredricks to the gun. He was distracted. It was now or never.

Elizabeth chose now.

She lunged from her seat toward the pistol, hands outstretched. Fredricks reacted faster than she could blink. Her fingers brushed the barrel of the pistol right before something hard collided with the side of her head, knocking her aside and knocking her senseless. She scrambled to get to her feet and go for the gun, but as she got to her knees, a boot pushed against her back, forcing her back down on her front. She looked up over her shoulder to see Fredricks, his face contorted with anger, her pistol in one hand, his helmet in the other. She realized that he'd hit her with the helmet.

"What the fuck did I say?" he growled, livid, "Two fucking stunts in six fucking hours?!"

He tossed his helmet aside and turned her over on her back. As he bent forward, she snagged a rock in her fist. He grabbed her by the collar of her hoodie and jerked her to her feet, placing the barrel of her pistol to her forehead. His eyes burned with fury. She was about to strike him with the rock, but he pulled the hammer back on the pistol with a menacing click. His eyes glanced toward her armed hand.

"Try it."

She got a good look into his eyes. A good, long look. She assumed that the soldier's men had simply been assholes, no more than hunters or bandits or other survivors. People eeking out an existence in a crumbling world. But now, as she looked, she saw a lifetime of pain, murder, and torture. He was an automation of death. He could kill her with no hesitation. But she also saw the humanity, hiding like a small star in the swirling night sky.

He didn't want to have to kill her.

The stone fell from trembling fingers and hit the ground with a soft thump.

He pulled the pistol away from her head, de-cocked the pistol, and tucked it in his waistband before dragging her back to her seat and forcing her to sit down. He went over and scooped his meal from off the ground.

"Made me drop my rabbit, God dammit."

She looked him over with a new perspective. Maybe, just maybe, she'd survive.


	3. Chapter 3: Crippled, But Still Alive

Chapter 3: Crippled, But Still Alive

(Late Summer, Pacific Northwest)

_Clack._

_Clack. _

_Clack._

"This is so stupid."

_Clack._

_Clack._

_Clack._

"Where the fuck am I going?"

Ellie didn't know the answer to her own question. She had a basic plan, yes. Keep scavenging the surrounding area for fresh bandages or cloth that could be supplemented for bandages, and keep changing them out until her stump healed completely. But then what? Head back to Jackson? No, that was impossible. The soldier destroyed it, even though that ended up destroying him. But where else could she go? Boston? No, much too far away. Wherever she chose, the closer the better.

As she made her way down the street, she felt like kicking herself for not paying attention during Maria's town meetings. Every week, Maria would have a town meeting where she would address any concerns the townsfolk had, assign duties, and keep everyone updated on inventory shortages, if there were any. She would always end the meeting with a reminder of where their meet-up spot in the event of a town evacuation would be. Usually, by the time the meeting would close, Ellie was chomping at the bit to leave. It didn't help that in the last couple of months she found something else that distracted her.

Or, more accurately, someone. Elizabeth had been quite the distraction. When Elizabeth wasn't poking and prodding her, grinning when she got a reaction from Ellie, she was up doing announcements on the status of everyone's gear. Because of her knack for mechanics, Elizabeth had been in charge of repairs and the supply cache for anything related to gear people needed on outside patrols. Ellie would always watch when Elizabeth would deliver yet another warning to be careful with supplies as parts were harder and harder to come by, her usually soft voice taking on an almost aggressively stern tone. As nice and shy that she was, nobody fucked with Elizabeth's gear. Nobody.

Ellie really liked her. It might not have been love, not just yet, but Ellie definitely had something going for her. They related quite well. Elizabeth was not Riley. That was certain. Riley was rambunctious where Elizabeth was quiet. Riley took risks where Elizabeth played it safe. Riley was a tomboy, Elizabeth was an egghead. However, Elizabeth had strengths where Riley had had weaknesses. Elizabeth was more open about herself whereas Riley was more reserved. Elizabeth dealt with her trauma head on, while Riley hid under a casual veneer, only occasionally opening up in rare moments of vulnerability and trust. Riley was impulsive and rash where Elizabeth was calm and collected. But both of them were brave. Just in different ways.

Ellie mentally kicked herself again, and probably would have done so literally if she had two feet. She needed to stop comparing Elizabeth to a dead girl.

"I'm not just a dead girl, Ellie," she could hear Riley saying in the back of her mind. Ellie knew that. Riley was more to her than just a dead friend. She was her first love. Her first kiss. Her first time. Pretty much her first for everything. Probably one of her only friends at the Boston 'orphanage'.

The crutches continued to clack every time she made another step on the ancient pavement.

_Clack._

_Clack._

_Clack._

_Why the hell did I cut off my foot?_

It seemed like such a prudent thing to do at the time. It was infected, getting gangrenous. It had a hole through the arch, and the toes didn't have any feeling left in them, failing to respond as she tried to wiggle them. She looked down at her stump. She had a mixture of emotions regarding her missing foot. She was angry that she would never be able to walk, angry because it wasn't fair that she had to do it alone, angry that she was stupid enough to get shot that badly in the first place, angry because it hurt so badly even though it was nearly healed. She was scared that she couldn't outrun infected anymore, scared that her crutches would attract them with their noise, scared that if someone found her foot, they'd assume she was dead, scared that she'd never find Joel or Amanda or Elizabeth or Maria or Tommy. She was scared because she was wounded.

She was angry and scared because she was alone. This was not like last winter, where the fear of Joel passing kept her going. This was not like last winter, where she could run and fight. Joel wasn't there to bring her back when she lost herself. Joel wasn't there to keep her afloat.

_Shit, that's another thing that's going to get me killed. _

She had had some rudimentary swimming lessons from Joel. She could tread water. She could doggy paddle. But that was about it. She wasn't as quick a learner and she was so certain there would be time. She often tried to coerce Joel into letting her skip it in order to hang out with Elizabeth. Joel often let her go do it with a chuckle, saying, "Kiddo, you know you're gonna have to learn one of these days."

"I know," Ellie would usually whine, "But I promised Elizabeth I'd be there by three! And it's two-fifty!" or something along those lines. Joel would often let her off early, but make her promise to stay the whole time next time. Ellie would generally uphold that promise. If there was one thing she wanted to do, it was keep Joel's trust in her. But now Ellie wished she might have broken one of those promises. Just so Joel wouldn't be as lenient as he was.

As Ellie thought these things, she made her way down a winding road that slithered through the tall, thick pines, the concrete cracked and jutting up in several places, occasionally sunken beneath the husk of a long rusted car. The trees had dropped their pine cones all over the road, creating a hazardous space for her crutches. She was very careful with the placement of her crutches, hoping that they would not slip and send her flailing to the ground._ Wouldn't it just be fucking hilarious if I fell and broke my walking leg? _

She snorted.

"Yeah, that'd be just super," she grumbled to herself.

_Clack. _

_Clack._

_Clack._

It began to rain. A light sprinkle. It felt good on her face. It cooled her down. She made her way over to a rusted van and stopped. She leaned her crutches against it and sat down with her back against the cold metal. I just need to rest for a couple of minutes, she thought, I'm so hot, even though it's fall. She pressed a hand to her forehead. It was burning. Fever. That wasn't good. Wasn't good at all. In the zone, she had all these shots she had to get. Immunization shots, they were called. Vaccines. Funny. You could get shots for just about everything. Ellie used to be immune to everything. Now she was only immune to one thing. She rolled up her sleeve and looked at her bite. It was still healed, still pale, still ugly, and still jagged. She traced over the scars where spores had tried to push through her flesh and died, leaving those peculiar lumps of skin in their wake. She reached into her backpack and pulled out her water bottle. She took a long swig. The water wet her parched throat. She sighed as she set it down, letting the rain slowly fill it. When it was done, she capped it and stowed it in her backpack. She sat back and watched as the sky darkened above her, watched as the drops fell. It was beautiful, in a way. So much ruin below, yet the sky was untouched.

It was at that moment when she heard rustling in the underbrush on the other side of the van. She instinctively pulled her pistol, clutching it with both hands. More rustling, this time a bit closer. Her hands tightened around the grip as her heart began to pound. It could be anything out there, she thought, her fear rising. Then, she heard it. Clicking.

_Oh, fuck, not now,_ she thought,_ Not now, not now, not now!_

The clicking sounded off, like it was muffled. That was perhaps why she didn't hear it the first time it rustled the underbrush of the forest. She peeked out from around the van. She caught a glimpse of it staggering out of the woods and onto the desolate road. Whoever it was had been wearing a gas-mask when they turned. The fungus had pushed through the eyes of the mask, the straps around the head simply surrounded by and embedded into the sickly yellow growth. Its clicks were muffled by the long since broken respirator, which made them sound even more eerie.

Ellie ducked back behind the van. She considered her options. Even if it couldn't bite her neck, it could still grapple her and hold her down, shrieking until other infected showed up to finish the job. Considering its hands were caked with dried blood, it probably didn't need its mouth to kill her. She looked down at her pistol. It would take a few shots to put it down and those shots would be loud. She needed to be quiet. She put the pistol away quietly and pulled her switchblade as she heard its clicks getting closer and closer, hearing its old boots scraping against the pavement as it shuffled along.

_How are you going to sneak up and knife it without your crutches, genius?_

Eliminating the clicker was out of the question. She would have to draw it away and hope it would continue down the road. She looked around her. There was nothing within reach to throw. Dammit, Ellie, think! It came closer and closer, It was then that she saw her crutches.

_That's it! _

She grabbed one of the crutches and shifted so that she knelt pressed against the back of the van, facing the side the clicker where the clicker shuffled along. It stepped up to the bumper, turning its head back and forth, clicking. It took a step. Ellie stuck her crutch behind the extended leg and in front of the supporting leg. When the clicker made to take another step, its shin ran into Ellie's crutch. It fell forward, screeching and thrashing, smacking its masked face into the concrete, the plastic cracking. Ellie scrambled on hands and knees onto the clicker, switchblade in hand. She snapped the blade out and jammed it into the back of its neck. It writhed on the ground, flailing its arms, but then it lay still.

Ellie slowly withdrew her knife, wiping it clean on the clicker's decrepit clothing. She folded the blade back into the handle and slipped the knife back into her back pocket. She breathed a sigh of relief as she rested on her hands and knees beside the dead clicker. Glad that's over with. She shifted her right leg and placed her foot on the ground. She made to stand.

The throbbing in her left ankle reminded her that she would never stand without aid.

"Goddammit."

She extricated the crutch that was entangled in the clicker's legs and used it to help her stand. She hopped over to the van and grabbed her other crutch.

_I got really lucky. I hope I don't fuck it up next time. _

With one last look at the clicker's body, she continued her way down the street.

_Clack._

_Clack._

_Clack._


End file.
